san francisco, while my first city love, is losing its luster. I've got this insatiable passion to woo new york, an urgent yearning to run away with her, in spite of millions of admirers she's had before. I long for it like a fiend after an impossibly perfect, ephemeral paramour, knowing that I'll never really be able to have her, but just to truly feel as if I'm a part of the unfathomably frenzied wonderment, even just for a little while. losing another piece of my heart to her would be instantly justified. I fantasize about exploring every neighborhood, memorizing the angles and curves of every brownstone in brooklyn, devouring the uncharted territory like a refugee cartographer. new york, such a formidable force, has always been a daunting possibility, but also a destination I've quietly had chosen for a decade. now that I've been voicing my desire for her, I'm meeting the opposition that kept me mum. it sounds cliche to say that every time someone tells me I can't, it makes me all the more determined, but it's true. I am young, but not naive. I am not the first runaway.
true, my roots have been ripped up before, but it's the first time that I've felt the urge to re-plant them somewhere far. it could be home.
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